“You didn’t what? Didn’t traffic third-world children and women into a life of slavery? Do you know how long a child lives as a sexual slave? The average life expectancy is seven years. Seven years of hell.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with it!” she cried. He increased the pressure, and tears of pain started in her eyes. “It wasn’t me.”
“Then who was it?” He didn’t give her a moment to consider it, twisting her arm. “Who?”
“He didn’t know what he was doing,” she said desperately. “He got in over his head—someone took advantage of him.”
“Fuck your excuses,” he said icily, twisting again, and she let out a low, keening wail of pain. “Who is it? What does the cell phone have to do with it?”
“Nothing . . .” She screamed then, but it didn’t matter. If they heard her downstairs—and chances were they wouldn’t, given the soundproofing in this place—they’d simply ignore it. “Stop,” she begged him. “Please, God, stop . . .”
“Then tell me what I want to know. Who are you covering for? Whose phone is it?”
She bit her lip, a useless attempt to keep the words back, and he wondered if he was going to have to do some real damage in order to make her talk. She was more stubborn than he could even begin to guess.
“So Miss Goody-Two-Shoes isn’t so good after all. Did you spend all your time helping the victims as a way to expiate your sins? Trust me, it doesn’t work. You can’t make up for what thousands upon thousands of women and children go through, and no one who’s involved with it deserves a do-over. You understand me?” He shook her slightly, and she shuddered, staring up at him, her eyes glazed with fear and pain.
“I can’t . . .” she began, and he’d had enough. He twisted again, and her high, keening wail made him want to throw up. He hated this, but nothing would show on his face but cold determination, no matter how much he hated this.
“You can and you will. Or you really won’t like the consequences.”
Her bitter laugh was thick was tears. “Unlike this torture? What are you going to do, rape me?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, hurting you is not a turn on for me.” He thrust his hips toward her, knowing arousal was the last thing on his mind. He released her hurt arm for a moment, only to catch her wrist with his other hand, holding the two together. “If you don’t start talking I’m going to have to become creative, and those things leave marks and scars, and not just on your body. I think it’s time you told me what’s going on before we go to a place you’ll never come back from.” He put his hand on her throat, exerting pressure. “Tell me,” he said, his voice low and vicious, devoid of humanity or mercy. “Tell me.”
She broke, as he knew she would. “My brother,” she gasped beneath the pain. “My brother Billy.”
He released her throat immediately, knowing he wouldn’t have to hurt her any more, knowing he shouldn’t feel sick inside. “Tell me.”
Tears were pouring down her face, tears of pain and shame. “He’s my baby brother—he didn’t know what he’d gotten himself into. He had a gun, and I knew you’d shoot him as you . . . you killed those other people on the boat.”
He didn’t disagree. “What did you do?”
“He was hiding under the desk when you came in. I just wanted to give him a second chance,” she said brokenly. “Everyone makes mistakes in their lives,” she said, a plea for understanding in her voice, one that left him entirely unmoved.
“You treacherous bitch,” he said coldly. “What about the phone?”
“He wants it back. He said it contained names, information, and if it got into the wrong hands he’d go to jail.”
“He’d be lucky if he made it as far as jail,” Ryder snapped. “And you still think he’s innocent? Next thing you’ll be telling me he’s a victim just like the people on that ship. I strongly suggest you don’t. Where was the phone?”
“Under the mattress.” Her voice crumbled, finally admitting the truth, and he wanted to curse, to shake her, yell at her.
He’d done enough to her. He levered
himself off the bed, and she immediately curled into a fetal ball, hugging herself and her damaged arm, refusing to look at him.
Ryder was furious, with her for lying and making him hurt her, with himself for hurting her. And now there was a missing woman and the incriminating phone, and he had no choice but to go after both, when all he really wanted to do was get Ms. Goddamn Parker out of his life. When all he wanted to do was pull her shivering body into his arms and hold her.
No one hurt people like Jenny Parker on purpose like that, not the way he had. The sheer psychic shock of it was probably more debilitating than any pain he’d inflicted on her body. The pain was transitory, the disillusionment permanent. She now realized that people did such things to each other without a second thought, and it could happen again. She’d never feel safe.
“I’ll have Emery bring you some clothes. You can’t keep wearing my cast offs,” he said in an expressionless voice.
She didn’t lift her head. He could see only part of her tear-streaked face, and he kept his face impassive, feeling sick inside. “I’ll be leaving tonight,” he added in the same dead tone. “You’ll stay put and behave yourself.”
“No,” she said, shocking him. He would have thought he’d stripped all the fight from her. “You’re not going anywhere without me. You need me to find the cell phone.”
“I don’t think it’ll be that hard to find a phone with the New Orleans Saints on it,” he drawled.